


Hostage

by stardust009



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Humour, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Aramis, Poor Guards, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-10-02
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2106975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardust009/pseuds/stardust009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When d’Artagnan first joined them he was always the one that ended up being held hostage, sometimes it was even intentionally. Aramis wasn’t sure when that had all changed…</p><p>Kink Meme Request - <i>"3 times Aramis was taken hostage. Maybe in one scenario he outwits his captors, in another he talks them to death, and in a third he gets massively beat up before the other musketeers can negotiate his release. Something along those lines. Maybe with a +1 where he takes the bad guy hostage instead? And negotiates the release of Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan?</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>Extra love for some Aramis being injured and some h/c along the way."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Stare

When d’Artagnan first joined them he was always the one that ended up being held hostage, sometimes it was even intentionally. Aramis wasn’t sure when that had all changed.

Early on, he put it down to the fact he was the beautiful one and so, automatically, he probably stood out more than the others. Yes, that had to be why he was currently tied to a chair, rope firmly wrapped around his wrists and ankles, being held hostage by some crazy men who felt like they had been wronged by the King somehow. He already knew that their plan was to kidnap some Intendants, particularly those tasked with establishing royal power in the provinces; that simply did not settle with men who had been ruling themselves quite peacefully before. Of course, it may have also been the fact Aramis was the one caught trying to sneak into their secret headquarters in order to discover said plan that possibly had something to do with his current dilemma.

Aramis was already bored. They weren’t proving to be very interesting company. Too distracted by their ridiculously overconfident plans to overthrow the monarchy or some such. He had rather hoped that he’d be rescued quite quickly but it had been a few hours since his capture and, so far, there was no sign of the others which meant that he’d probably have to escape by himself and soon before he went stir-crazy.

As casually as he could manage, he looked over at his hat and weapons longingly. They were too far away for him to reach and his hands were pretty tightly attached to the chair. In fact he had to keep wiggling his fingers to make sure that he hadn’t lost them.

Just as he worried that divine providence had abandoned him, opportunity arose when a couple of women entered the room. They were carrying baskets of bread and cheese for their hungry soon-to-be criminal husbands. Now Aramis could use his most tried and tested and successful technique… _the stare_.

He waited until they noticed him. One turned away quite quickly to question the men about why someone was tied to a chair but the other one, a young woman with long curly brown hair, continued to gawp. So, Aramis gave her the stare. It started with his eyes, staring with intent right into her black pupils and, then, a smile curled up at the side of his mouth ever so slowly until she blushed and quickly turned away. It had obviously worked because he could hear her ask one of the men if she should give the prisoner some bread. The man shrugged and nodded so the lady came over. Aramis was pleased. Once she was close she looked at his tied hands with puzzlement.

“I… I’ll just feed you some bread,” she said, her voice kind and gentle. Aramis nodded and opened his mouth obediently, not taking his eyes off her. She placed some bread into his mouth and he chewed with a smile. Once he swallowed he pretended to look a little puzzled.

“Your eyes are stunning. I have never seen eyes so green before. They look like emeralds you’d only find inside the pyramids of Egypt.”

She giggled and blushed again.

“I could lie down beside you all day and stare into those eyes for hours. How extraordinary.”

She started to look even more embarrassed and glanced over her shoulder to make sure that the men weren’t listening. Aramis knew that he had to make his next move before the men noticed.

“I hate to have to ask this, it’s rather embarrassing really, but I’ve been tied up here for a while and, well…,” he leaned forward, best he could having been tied so tightly to the chair, “…my bladder is very full. You couldn’t ask if they’d let me visit a latrine could you? I hate to have to make this request of you but they don’t seem to be paying much attention.”

Politeness was always a good idea, even in situations such as this. She seemed to think about it a moment and then nodded before going back over to the group of men. Then, after a quick discussion between all of them, two men came over. One of them held a pistol which he was pointing firmly in the direction of Aramis’ head whilst another untied him. Perhaps they weren’t as stupid as Aramis thought. Still, they were untying him.

Stage one in his escape plan was being put into action. After undoing the ropes Aramis rubbed at his sore wrists just seconds before he was being pulled out of the chair and to his feet. He wobbled a little, unintentionally. He had been sitting down for a few hours which was very unlike him. The man held him steady and then started dragging him out of the room, the one with the gun following closely behind.

“If you do exactly as we tell you, we won’t have to hurt you,” the man assured Aramis, confirming to the Musketeer that they weren’t sadists, just angry.

Still, he also knew that they wouldn’t let him go until their plans to kidnap the Intendants had been carried out and that could take weeks. Aramis could not be tied up for weeks. His brain would explode from utter boredom and the others would find him a drooling mess.

“I will behave,” Aramis commented, although he didn’t mean it. He’d have to visit confession on Sunday to apologise for that one. He was pushed into a room which had a basic wooden plank with a couple of pit holes. They all stood there for a few seconds before Aramis turned to look at the man who wasn’t holding the gun.

“Do you mind? I get shy about these things.”

The man smiled and snorted, then they both turned their backs to him. Aramis had to stop himself from sighing, revising his previous thoughts on their intelligence down a notch. How would they ever overthrow the monarchy when they were clearly quite inept?

Still, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, he pretended to untie his breeches for a moment as he went over his plan in his head. He’d need to take out the man with the pistol first. Once he had the gun, he could easily get out.

So, he twisted around suddenly and grabbed the back of the man’s head and thrust it forward until the man’s forehead connected with the wall of the latrine with a loud crack. He started sliding to the ground so Aramis snatched the pistol out of his hand before he fell to the floor unconscious.

The other man had gasped and was turning but he was too late. Aramis had the gun raised at his head before he could do much else. A few seconds later he was standing behind the man, his arm around his waist and the gun pointed to his temple. He shuffled the man out of the latrine.

“I’m very sorry about this,” Aramis said, and he truly was. He didn’t actually want to hurt any of them but he was sick and tired of being tied to that chair.

Once inside the main room the other captors who’d been sitting around the table looked up; their mouths dropped open in utter shock. A couple of them managed to regain their senses and reach for their guns.

Aramis shook his head firmly. “If a hand reaches a pistol, this one ends up with his brains all over the floor,” he warned. Whilst he didn’t want to kill him, he would if he had too. Besides, it had the proper effect; they stilled in their seats.

“Now, I’m going to fetch my hat and weapons and I’m going to leave. Whilst I’m escaping I would suggest that you don’t come after me because there is a good chance that I will be faster than all of you and, when I get back to my Captain, I will tell him everything. So you may want to use the opportunity to run away and hide somewhere else.”

The men all looked at each other briefly and, after a couple of frantic whispers, they all seemed to shuffle their chairs away from the door to give Aramis access.  Their friend and his brains was obviously more important to them then their mission. Aramis could at least admire them for that one.

With his captive in front of him as cover and the gun tight against the man’s temple, Aramis made his way over to his things. Careful to keep the pistol aimed at their friend, he reached down one-handed and attached his own pistol back onto his belt and held onto his sword. Hold on, he was out of hands, what about his hat? Deciding that his hat was far more important than anything else, he dropped the aiming pistol onto the chair and placed his hat onto his head with a smile.

“Gentleman,” Aramis looked around the room, smiling. “It has been a pleasure.”

It took them a few seconds to realise that Aramis was without a loaded gun; the precise moment followed by a sudden yell, Aramis made a dash for the door and ran with his sword in hand and his hat on his head, as if his life depended on it. Which it pretty much did.

Running through the streets, however, was when he noticed a familiar very confused looking face peering out at him from behind a cart.

Aramis stopped running and his jaw dropped. “How long have you been there?” he asked, marching up to Porthos who was still crouching.

“Not very long,” Porthos said, smiling at his friend. “We were about to mount a rescue.”

“A rescue?!” Aramis sighed loudly. “I rescued myself because you were all taking too long.”

“Well Athos said that...”

“Aramis!” The cheerful voice of d’Artagnan soon joined them as the new Musketeer almost bounced over. “You’re alive!”

“Of course I’m alive!” Aramis yelled, getting quite annoyed at all of them. “Does it really take you this long to plan a rescue attempt? You all knew where I was. You should have come in ages ago.”

D’Artagnan looked a little put-out. “But Athos said...” He didn’t finish his sentence because Athos was next to come over, not as overtly pleased to see Aramis as the other two but he did have a small smile on his face which didn’t even fade when he noticed how angry Aramis was looking.

“You’re looking well,” Athos said.

Aramis almost spluttered. “Well?! I’ve been sitting in a chair for most of the night. Why did it take you so long?”

“We thought you’d appreciate the rest,” Athos informed, a sly grin pulling at one side of his mouth. “Porthos was just saying the other day that you were looking tired.”

“I rest in gardens, I rest in church, I rest in my bed….being tied to a chair is not resting!!”

“So dramatic,” Porthos muttered. The other two nodded in agreement. Aramis spluttered at them and then pouted.

“I have just been kidnapped!”

“I know and we missed you,” Porthos then said and wrapped his arms tightly around Aramis, giving him a giant bear hug.

“Get off me. I’m still very angry at you.”

“No you’re not,” Porthos said and squeezed him harder.


	2. The mouth

This was certainly worse than the time before. Instead of being tied up with ropes it was metal chains. And, instead of being a group of angry farmers, this time it was proper criminals. And yet Aramis was no less bored and no less fed-up at being held hostage yet again.

This time they were planning to negotiate his release by demanding that the King free three of their friends from the prison. Aramis had yet to establish why these friends were in prison in the first place, he assumed it wasn’t because they were innocent, judging by the company they kept.

The two men with whom he shared a room had teeth missing and scars all over their faces. Although, to be fair, Aramis had his own scars so he shouldn’t really judge but then his scars were from heroic adventures and he smiled to himself as he thought of those moments.

Well, apart from the scar he had on his leg, that is; that he’d gotten in a rare fit of imbalance when he’d fallen off a wall. He usually made up a fake heroic adventure to cover that truthful clumsy tale. It worked unless Porthos was with him; Porthos had witnessed the wall incident. His mind was thinking very fast because he was so bored, he gave his head a small shake to get himself back on task.

If only he had gone home from the tavern with one of the others, maybe then he wouldn’t have been picked off. He wouldn’t have had the bag thrown over his head and been bundled into the carriage. He wouldn’t currently be sitting on his arse with his hands tied up above his head. And he wouldn’t be so cold although quite why they insisted on taking off most of his clothes he couldn’t quite understand. He suspected that the beautiful thing was causing a problem once more. At least he had his breeches and a shirt on still.

In an attempt to dissuade his captors, Aramis cleared his throat to get their attention. “You know the King can easily get another Musketeer. I doubt he’ll swap me for three men he has locked up inside the Bastille.”

“Who’s asking you?” was the grunt reply he received from one of his captors in return, the large one with the muscles. The two that were left seemed to have the unfortunate task of guarding him. Aramis had every intention of making their job as painful as possible.

“I’m just saying. I’m not sure you’ve thought your plan through. You should have kidnapped more of us really. The more Musketeers you have, the more hassle it’ll be for them to train more men up. Just one?” Aramis attempted a small shrug. “Not going to make much difference. Although granted I am one of the more important Musketeers. I’m an excellent shooter.”

“I’m sure you are,” the large man mumbled.

“Yes. The others are all very jealous of my skills. Especially Porthos. I try telling him not to be. You’re an excellent fighter, I say. I can’t take on three men at one time like you can. I’m too little. He doesn’t listen to me though. He has very low self-esteem. He doesn’t think he’s good at anything, apart from cards, and he cheats at that.”

The man sighed but let Aramis carry on.

“It’s probably to do with his upbringing of course. He didn’t have parents growing up so I suppose he never had anyone telling him how much they loved him and how proud they were of him. So I try and do that a lot now. I had a wonderful mother. She cooked the best bread. Oh I can smell it now.”

“Can you please shut him up?” came the voice of the second skinny man who was sitting on a stool in the corner of the room trying to sleep.

“How?” The large man standing closer to Aramis asked. “They told us not to gag him. Said he might choke on his vomit.”

“Why would he vomit?” The second man growled.

“Actually,” Aramis said, deciding to be helpful. “Shock can make you vomit. Although the last time I vomited it was probably drink related. I was trying to keep up with Athos once and that went terribly wrong. He has a drinking problem but we don’t really mention that to him. Well he knows, I suppose. No, actually, the last time I vomited it was when I ate that funny chicken. I thought it looked a little pink but I was starving so I ate it anyway. Porthos ate it too but that man has a strong stomach. D’Artagnan and I spent the entire night throwing up over the balcony. He had it coming out of the other end as well though, which was a little unpleasant…”

Half an hour later…

“But then I pointed out that it was a different woman! Athos hadn’t even realised. I don’t think that man really pays much attention to the female species, at least not enough to notice the difference between two blonds clearly. Anyway, after realising his mistake, he apologised to the woman he had been needlessly guarding and went back off to find the one who was he meant to be watching. It was so funny. Treville would have been furious if he had found out but I thought it was hilarious. Anyway, the lady who we were meant to be guarding was having a wonderful time with a Marquis gentleman so I don’t think she had even noticed we had gone so we didn’t get into trouble. Athos was annoyed with himself for at least a week afterwards though...”

An hour later…

“…D’Artagnan’s face was turning a very bright shade of red. The others were just standing there staring in shock. Suddenly his hands covered his parts but it was too late, they’d all seen everything. Porthos was looking at me wondering how the heck I’d managed to do it. Athos was then looking at me furious because, for some strange reason, the fact that they’d walked into Treville’s office with me standing there wearing clothes and d’Artagnan standing there stark naked was obviously somehow my fault. Captain Treville didn’t know where to look. And that’s how I won that bet with Porthos. We had another bet the following week…”

Another hour later…

“So Athos smiled at us for the first time. That’s when I knew that we were all going to be very good friends. I haven’t even told you how we met d’Artagnan, have I? Now that’s an even more interesting story. You see he turned up at the garrison one day accusing Athos of…”

“Stop talking!” Aramis was suddenly stopped mid-sentence by the shouting of the skinny man from the stool who suddenly pounded over, fell to his knees and grabbed Aramis by the shirt shaking him furiously. “Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking. For the love of god, stop.”

“I’m sorry,” Aramis said, trying to genuinely seem apologetic. “I talk when I get nervous and being held hostage is rather making me a little bit nervous.” The man looked at him for a while and then sighed before letting go of his shirt, mostly because Aramis had actually stopped talking but, as soon as the man was back on his feet, Aramis started again.

“The last time I was held hostage I had a sore throat for at least a week. There’s a very nice lady who used to be d’Artagnan’s landlady, she had a wonderful cure for it though. It was basil, rosemary, salt with something else…I can’t remember what. Anyway I drank what she made for me and my throat got better straight after that. It tasted disgusting though. I haven’t even told you about her yet…”

“I can’t,” the skinny man said and snatched the keys off the other.

“What are you doing?” the keyless man shouted in shock.

“He’s right. They won’t exchange three prisoners for one Musketeer. What was Julien thinking? We need to kidnap more people. We can set this one free in the meantime.”

“But…”

He shot his comrade a firm glare. “Do you really want to listen to this for another few hours?!”

The large man didn’t say anything and finally nodded, “You have a point. We can always try our luck with the gag and hope he vomits.”

The skinny man thought for a while before saying something which sent a wave of relief over Aramis, “We should just let him go. I’m too scared that he’ll come back as an over-talkative ghost and haunt me.”

A few minutes later Aramis was leaving the basement and walking back out into the sunshine. He stretched his aching limbs for a moment and, slightly upset that they hadn’t given him his jacket, weapons or hat back, he began the long journey home. Although he had only reached the end of the street before he saw horses approach with three familiar faces on board.

“Aramis!” Porthos called and galloped over.

“Where have you been?!” Aramis asked, sounding less than amused.

“Well we had to get information out of the man sent to negotiate the terms of your release. It took longer than we thought it would to get your location from him,” Porthos offered, sounding a little bit confused as to why their friend, who was being held hostage, was walking around in the sunshine. “Are you well?”

“Well?” Aramis looked annoyed. “I had to talk non-stop for ages.”

“I’m sure that was a hardship for you,” Athos muttered. Aramis looked up at Athos and his frown soon turned into a smile.

“One of you needs to get kidnapped the next time because I’m seriously getting fed-up with this.” D’Artagnan reached out his hand and Aramis grabbed it, getting up onto the horse behind him.

“I assume you got a good look at your captors?” Athos asked.

“A good look at them? I’ve been talking to them about you lot for the last four hours. Can we go and get my hat?”


	3. Black and blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Warning - I'm beating the poor man up so there is some violence at the beginning]

The next time Aramis was captured it was different, very different.

Blindfolded and gagged, he was held down by lots of rough hands. They undressed him hastily, taking everything, save for his breeches, then tied his hands firmly behind his back. Bare-footed and disoriented, he was hauled to his feet, shoved viciously across the cold dirt floor and thrown into a room where the heavy door slammed shut so loudly that it made him jump.

Silence followed, save for the sounds of his own laboured breathing. He stood there for a while, bound and sightless, the blindfold still plunging his world into darkness but it was the gag he hated most. The rag fastened around his mouth tasted vile on his tongue and it was all he could do to fight off the urge to vomit.

In an attempt to gain his bearings, he rose and stumbled all over the place until his shoulder hit a wall. The stones were rough and cold, like the rest of the place and goose-flesh rose on his arms. For now, adrenaline numbed the worst of the chill but he knew that wouldn't last long.

The stones would be of some use, he realized, so he began furiously rubbing the side of his head against them, desperate to dislodge the gag or his blindfold, he wasn't particularly picky which gave first. He was successful at one. Using his teeth and then his lips to move it down, he managed to pull the gag away. As the fetid cloth fell down to his neck, he took in a sudden gasp of air and then licked dry lips.

“Hello?” he called quietly. Just to check if anyone was in the room with him. There was no response.

Next he tried to rub his head against the wall again, attempting to remove the blindfold. This time, however, his efforts proved fruitless; the thing was tied too tightly. He managed only to rub a gouge in his temple deep enough to bleed and eventually gave up at the first trickle of blood he felt oozing down his cheek.

Needing options, he willed himself to be calm and think. Surely they wouldn’t keep him in here forever, not like this. They wanted something from him. He just had to be patient and wait. So Aramis was patient…for a whole five minutes.

With a groan of frustration he pressed his back against a wall and used his fingers to explore. Moving around the wall slowly he eventually felt wood underneath his fingers-tips and assumed that he had found the door. He tried the handle, because miracles do happen, right?

Apparently not. The thing remained stubbornly in place. He sighed, slumped against the timber and banged his head back against the door; he didn’t know what else to do.

“Just be patient, you fool,” he told himself out-loud. When he didn’t turn up at the garrison the others would worry and eventually search for him. When they didn’t find him in the usual places they’d turn Paris upside down until they found him. It wouldn’t take long. Days…perhaps weeks. If he was even in Paris. If he could even be found. The thought made his stomach do flips.

He pressed his back against the door and slid down until he was sitting on the ground. There he waited, his mind racing with negative thoughts so, after a couple of hours, he decided to start singing just because he needed sound to reach his ears.

The first song was one his mother used to sing when she was tending the vegetables in the garden. He thought about how he used to sit and watch her until she would call him over and teach him about tomatoes, courgettes and potatoes. He’d help her pull potatoes, shake off the dirt and place them into her basket. Then he’d feel so proud as he watched their father eat supper that night, enjoying the vegetables they had selected.

It wasn’t long before Aramis realized he’d lost track of time. It was probably just a couple of hours but it felt like a life-time. He had stopped shaking from the cold a while ago and now he kept dozing off. Only, each time his head fell, the shock would wake him up again. Eventually he heard a noise, foot-steps and muffled voices. He quickly swung his legs around, got his knees underneath himself and shuffled away from the door. He waited, kneeling on the ground, trying to wake his head up so that he could make his move if he had a chance.

The door opened with a painfully loud creak and people walked in. Aramis moved his head about but he couldn’t see anything with the cloth tied so tightly that it kept his eyelids firmly shut.

“Do it,” he heard a voice say. He knew that voice but, before he had the time to place it, the sound of footsteps coming towards him brought him upright, tense, bracing for whatever came next.

Something hard slammed into his face. It made his head snap to the side. He immediately tasted blood in his mouth. He tried to speak, to ask what they were doing but, before he had the chance another blow landed, this time from the other side. It connected with his nose and he could feel it crack.

He felt dizzy not helped by the way he was suddenly pulled to his feet. There were fingers digging painfully into his arms holding him in place as he was punched in the stomach. It made him groan and hunch over but the firm hands tugged him back up ready to strike again.

The beating seemed to go on for a long while, fists punching his face, chest, stomach and sides until he was on the ground a bloody mess. Even then boots were flying, thumping his ribs and his back, making him jerk and twist at the shock of the blows, he bit his lip. He tried not to make a sound. He wouldn’t beg for the monsters to stop. He felt disorientated and the ground seemed to be moving. He thought he was going to pass out when finally it all stopped.

Struggling to hang onto consciousness, body pulsating with pain, he lay there.

“For Adele,” a voice hissed close to his ear.

Through a haze of pain, he heard the sound of footsteps retreating. This time, however, he didn’t hear the door close. Instead it was a single set of footsteps, these lighter, softer upon the dirt floor but gaining on his position.

Aramis groaned, curled on his side. Years of training and fighting screamed at him to move, to see who’d entered and face possibly another assailant. The blindfold had been jarred lose, slipped down a bit on one side and while it no longer hindered his sight completely, blood dripping into his eyes and swollen flesh made the task of sight its own obstacle. And he dare not roll onto his back for a better angle because that would put him lying on his tied arms and the arched position of his back would only upset his broken ribs.

A solitary figure came into view, familiar but…but Aramis’ sight was faulty, swimming with a mixture of blood and shrouded in unrelenting waves of pain. The images around him bent and blurred. He couldn’t be sure but… Cardinal Richelieu?

Lips moving in soundless question he struggled against the tide that beckoned him under. 

Lowering his head, he blinked furiously at the dirt, sweat and blood filling his sight.  Desperate to gain focus, he shook his head slightly but the small motion alone nearly made him vomit.

It was no use. The effort proved too much and he closed his eyes against the pain, certain his sight, affected by pain and broken bone, was playing tricks on him.

Instead he called out to the ones he wanted, needed most. Those who could save him from his plight…

“Porthos?” he called. “Athos?” he whispered in pure desperation. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew they weren’t there but maybe they’d feel that something was wrong and come for him. “Please…” he gasped, his body shaking with the pain and the shock.

\---------------------------------------------------------

“Do not just run in there,” Athos warned d’Artagnan with a firm glare. D’Artagnan nodded his understanding. Athos, hoping that his message had gotten through, looked back at the barn as they hid behind the hay bales. “It makes no sense as to why someone would kidnap Aramis and then just tell us where he is. It is most likely an ambush.”

“Pretty stupid if it’s an ambush,” d’Artagnan suggested. “Because we know it might be an ambush.”

“The stupidity of some people never fails to surprise me,” Athos mumbled.

Porthos came in to view just then; bent over to be as inconspicuous as a man of his size could be, he ran full speed toward their position. Both Musketeers moved to the side to make room as he skidded to a halt beside them, panting as he leaned against the hay.

Porthos gave a great shake of his head. “I really can’t see anyone. It seems pretty deserted to me. I say we just go in. What other choice do we have?”

Athos agreed. “I’ll go in first. You two stay on look-out. I’ll call if I find him.”

Porthos opened his mouth to protest but it was too late; Athos had already started running. Sword in hand, he reached the barn and pressed flat against the side at the entrance and waited a beat. When no sound of alarm came, he cautiously rounded the corner and entered the building.

Even Athos found the slaughterhouse a little creepy; hooks dangled from rafters, dried blood splattered all over the walls and sharp instruments lay on the tables. Then he saw something strange, towards the back of the barn; a couple of the hooks were swinging. Which meant that either the wind had somehow reached them or someone had knocked them recently.

Ignoring his own orders, he raced to the back of the slaughterhouse. He ran through an archway and found a small corridor with a couple of open doors. Sword firmly in his hand, he explored the old storage rooms; it only took him seconds to find a body lying on its side and only another short moment to recognise it.

“Aramis!” he gasped and immediately and fell forward onto his knees. Sword forgotten in the dirt, he gently reached out for his friend.

Aramis was covered in dried blood. There was blood down the side of his face, blood from his nose which had trickled down his mouth and chin. Blood on his bare chest and painful-looking red marks all over his torso. He gently held Aramis’ head up with one hand and tugged on the blindfold with the other. The dried blood held the material stubbornly in place so Athos had to pull a little harder, tugging at the skin but he did eventually manage to remove it. One of Aramis’ eyes was swollen and neither were open.

“Aramis?” he called softly. “Can you hear me?”

He got a strangled moan as a response. Aramis was coming round.

“Wait,” Athos suddenly said and lowered the head back to the ground carefully. He pulled his main gauche, leaned over the beaten body and easing the blade between Aramis’ pale hands, he sawed at the rope until a piece gave way. With a last tug, the rope fell lose; with their brother’s hands now free, Athos sheathed the dagger and carefully repositioned Aramis' arms to get them into a better position. This immediately got a louder groan from the injured man who slumped onto his back.

“It’s me,” Athos said, leaning over his broken Musketeer. “It’s Athos.”  

“A… Athos?” came the whispered in response. It made Athos feel relieved for a moment. At least Aramis could still speak.

“Yes, don’t try to move,” Athos was about to go and get the others when he heard Aramis say something else.

“I’m cold… really cold,” he said so quietly that Athos barely heard it. He looked down at his injured friend and noticed for the first time how badly he was shaking.

“Hang on,” Athos urged and began undoing the buttons of his jacket quickly. Aramis was trying to open his eyes, only successful with one of them, the other was swollen shut.

“I knew you’d come,” Aramis said, a small smile even appearing on his lips. It took a while to undo all of the buttons and negotiate the belts and buckles but, eventually, Athos had managed to get the garment free. He place it over Aramis who immediately seemed to appreciate it, his violent shivering stopped.

“I need to get the others, don’t move,” Athos then said.

“I can’t move,” Aramis informed him. That made Athos worry but he decided to ignore the panic for a moment.

Grabbing his sword, Athos jumped up and ran out of the room, racing through the slaughter-house. When he poked his head outside into the sunshine again he saw d'Artagnan and Porthos where he left them.

“He’s in here!” he shouted and motioned them over. Not that it had been necessary; Porthos was running toward him before he'd called.

Athos returned to Aramis' side and found him unmoved, save for the shaking; the warmth of the jacket offered initially seemed to have abated. He seem to be awake, however, his good eye looking up at Athos as he returned.

“H-how did you fi--find me?” he asked, it was then that Athos noticed that one of Aramis’ side teeth was missing.

"You're still cold," Athos said. He immediately lowered himself to sit next to his friend and grabbed him underneath the armpit and began to tug; Aramis protested for a moment, crying out in pain as Athos pulled him onto his lap. Once Athos had Aramis’ head on his lap and body nestled between his legs, he rubbed gently at the jacket to warm the Musketeer up.

“A young boy ran into the garrison with a message for Captain Treville. On the message it told us exactly where you were,” Athos explained.

“Hmmm…” Aramis seemed to contemplate the information for a moment. “That was helpful,” he eventually said.

“Yes, it was,” Athos agreed but thinking about the odd nature of events would have to wait, he continued to rub. It wasn’t long before d’Artagnan and Porthos were racing through the doorway.

“Aramis,” Porthos breathed, too shocked to find full voice. “The fucking animals,” he finally growled, voice stronger this time and seething with barely contained rage. He immediately fell to his knees and looked Aramis up and down. “How bad?” he asked Athos, although he couldn’t take his eyes off their injured friend.

“He’ll live,” Athos replied with more certainty than he felt because truth of it was, he had no idea. However, he didn’t need to give the others any reason to worry. “But we need to get him back," he added and looked up at their youngest recruit. "D’Artagnan, go and get the horses. Porthos, you can help me carry him outside.”

“Porthos?” came the croak from Aramis, only just realising that they had been joined by their friends. A hand poked out from beneath the jacket.

“Yeah it’s me,” Porthos answered affectionately as he looked down and grabbed the hand to hold it tight enough to reassure their fallen brother. “Did you not use the stare or your big-mouth this time?”

“They never gave me the chance,” Aramis admitted. He seemed to stay in good spirits until they tried to move off him Athos’ lap.

The response was immediate as he cried out in pain. Seemingly embarrassed about it he whispered apologies. “Sorry, sorry…” he repeated as they all froze and gave Aramis a moment to breathe again.

Athos had no-idea how many ribs were broken but it was obviously a few. They somehow managed to get Aramis to his feet but he couldn’t walk, he just flinched and almost collapsed each time he tried to move his legs. Porthos looked over at Athos worriedly but neither of them said anything. Instead, they moved one on either of their brother and knelt; there they formed a cradle with their arms clasped beneath him and lifted. Aramis did his best to stifle his cries as they carried him from the building.  Once outside, they carefully moved him to where d’Artagnan was bringing two of the horses.

“He can’t ride,” Porthos pointed out as he and Athos settled Aramis against the wall of the barn and he adjusted the jacket where it had slipped from the injured man’s shoulders. “We can’t put him on a horse like this.”

Athos knew that Porthos was right and thought for a moment.

“I would suggest that two go back for a horse and cart whilst one stays with Aramis but,” he continued as he looked uncertainly around them, “given the circumstances and the fact that none of this still makes sense, I think two should stay. D’Artagnan, would you go back to the garrison and ask the Captain…”

“I know who did it,” Aramis suddenly said from where he sat. He looked up, his face still covered in blood, his lip split, nose crooked and swollen eye making him almost unrecognisable. “It was revenge on me. We are not in danger. Please, two of you can go.”

“It’s fine,” d’Artagnan insisted. “I’m good with carts. I can ride one back here by myself.”

Athos smiled proudly and reached out to give the boy’s shoulder a squeeze. , “Thank you,” he said before adding. “Be quick about it.”

D’Artagnan gave a quick nod and was quickly mounted and galloping off. They all watched him go and then Porthos turned back to Aramis just in time to see the man’s head drop to the side as he passed out again.

“Aramis!” he cried and flung himself to the grass to catch Aramis before he rolled sideways to the ground. As Porthos held him Athos looked around.

“I assume there will be a bed in the farmhouse. That will work until d’Artagnan comes back or the owners of this place return and kick us out.” Porthos nodded and, with the strength none of the rest of them would ever be-able to muster, he scooped the unconscious Aramis up in his arms and carried him.

\-----------------------------------------

When Aramis came round he felt like he was lying on a cloud, although it wasn’t, it was just a bed but it felt like luxury. Something wet and cold was gently wiping at his face. He opened his good eye to find Athos washing the dried blood away.

“Do I still look handsome?” Aramis asked quietly.

“Well, you’ve broken your nose so it’s not as straight anymore. I think you’ve lost a tooth….”

“Athos,” Aramis interrupted. “The answer to the question is yes, Aramis, you do.”

One side of Athos mouth tugged into a smile. “Yes, Aramis, you do,” he assured as he dipped the cloth into the bowl then wrung out the excess before bringing it back to Aramis’ face.

Aramis tried to move a little, his ribs immediately hurt but he managed to not cry out this time. Still, Athos placed a firm but gentle hand on one shoulder and huffed. “Settle, Aramis,” he ordered sternly. “You’ll only do yourself more injury if you move about.”

Aramis glared at him with his one good eye, but realizing Athos was right, he acquiesced. Moving only his head, he looked about the room. “Where’s Porthos?”

“He’s cooking stew,” Athos said and then quickly realised that it might need an explanation. “He’s worried about you and he somehow managed to convince himself that you’d feel a lot better with food in your stomach so he rode off and found another farm nearby and politely asked, according to him, for some onions and beef. And they politely, according to him, gave him some.”

“I would like to try and eat,” Aramis said, Athos wasn’t sure if he was just being polite.

“Aramis,” Athos said, wiping up the last bit of blood from Aramis’ chin before putting the cloth down and staring directly down at the injured Musketeer. “Shall we dance around the issue for a while longer or do you just want to tell me?”

Aramis opened his mouth like he was going to say something but it hung there for a while, as his tongue played with his teeth. “I have lost a tooth,” he suddenly said.

“Aramis,” Athos said firmly which made Aramis sigh and then make a hissing noise as the sighing hurt his ribs. Once the stab of pain left he managed to speak again.

“The Cardinal must have found out about my affair with Adele.”

Athos’ eyes narrowed.

“I know, I know,” Aramis immediately said before Athos even had the chance to speak. “I make very bad decisions sometimes. I promise, this has taught me a lesson. I will now stay away from anyone who is member of the royal family or with the Cardinal. I will also stay away from Monsieur Bernard’s wife, Monsieur Sauvage’s wife and Monsieur Labelle’s mistress.”

“And the Father Jean’s mistress,” Athos added.

“How do you know about that one?”

“Everyone knows about that one.”

Aramis sighed. “Her too. In fact, I will now stay celibate until marriage. This is my promise to you.”

Athos rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to lie at least say something I’m going to believe. I feel angry although I’m not entirely sure who I’m angry with, apart from the Cardinal. He has some cheek after…”

“Athos...” Aramis was distracted for a moment as he ran his fingers over sore ribs now covered in black and purple bruises. “I think I’ve broken a few ribs. Does this mean I’ll have to stay in bed for a week?”

“It may be a little more than a week, Aramis.”

For some reason it was the thought of that with suddenly made Aramis’ change. Athos could see it in his eyes— rather, his one good eye. It was like a dark cloud had loomed over his head and he suddenly went incredibly pale.

“Aramis?” Athos leaned forward onto the bed, reaching out to touch Aramis’ shoulder, wondering if he was about to pass out again.

“It does hurts a little bit,” Aramis admitted. “Actually it hurts a little more than a little bit.”

“I know,” Athos said. “Just rest. Close your eyes.”

Aramis seemed almost afraid to close his eyes so Athos moved. He got off the chair and sat onto the bed next to Aramis, moving a couple of pillows about to put them behind his back.

“Close your eyes,” he said again and reached for the old leather covered book which had been left on the bedside table. He opened it up and, starting at the first page, he began to read. He read about the adventures of an explorer who sailed the seas and discovered strange new cultures in strange new lands with strange new animals and strange new people. Or at least he read until Porthos brought up the stew.

 -----------------------------------------

It was dusk by the time d’Artagnan returned so rather than setting off, they decided to stay in the farmhouse until the morning. Athos began to wonder where the owners were so went to investigate whilst d’Artagnan fed the horses. Porthos was left in the room with Aramis, pulling the sheets up and tucking him into bed, carefully avoiding pressing against the broken ribs.

Wide awake, Aramis was content to watch, his one eye following his every move. “You really are quite the mother-hen sometimes, aren’t you?” he said after a moment.

“And you really can’t keep your mouth-shut. Aramis, you need to rest those ribs.”

“Good idea. I’ll just stop breathing for a few minutes,” Aramis mumbled petulantly.

Porthos rolled his eyes and perched on the edge of the bed. He reached out and brushed some of the curly locks away from Aramis’ face, wincing when that just revealed yet another bruise on his forehead. “I’m sorry,” he said so quietly that Aramis barely heard.

“Sorry, for what?” he asked curiously.

Porthos suddenly looked a little awkward, pulling his hand away and moving back, “For not being there. For letting this happen to you.”

“Porthos,” Aramis reached out and touched his friend, the action made his broken ribs rub painfully against each other. He groaned and gave up, dropping his arm back down. Porthos noticed and reached for Aramis’ hand, holding it firmly. “None of this is your fault. None of it.”

Porthos smiled a little, weakly, he felt guilty but now wasn’t the time to dwell on that. He had to be strong, it was Aramis who had been beaten black and blue. Aramis didn’t let go of Porthos’ hand as he closed his eyes; Porthos noticed the swollen eye was weeping a little so he twisted the best he could and picked up the cloth to wipe the liquid away. Then he realised that the good eye was weeping as well and it started to dawn on him that they were tears. He didn’t say anything, just wiped them away until they were gone.

“Are you in pain?” Porthos asked, not really sure what he could do if the answer was ‘yes’.

Aramis took a shallow breath then released it. “Tell me a story,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.

“What story?” Porthos grunted, putting the cloth back and moving to get onto the bed with his friend.

“Any story. Just make sure I’m the hero in it.”

Porthos chuckled as he lay on his side and began to tell an exciting tale of Aramis the brave Musketeer, and it wasn’t long before Aramis fell sound asleep. Then Porthos leaned over and kissed him on the forehead affectionately before resting his own head down on the pillows and closing his eyes.

\-----------------------------------------

Their return to the Garrison the next day was quite the spectacle. The musketeers training in the yard stopped to watch as the cart rolled into the courtyard and gazed at their injured comrade.

For his part, Aramis did his best to ignore their gazes. He knew he looked just as bad and, in fact, his bruises were even darker, although the swelling in his eye had gone down a little.

Once he was back in his own bed Treville came round with a physician who had declared that there wasn’t a lot he could do. Aramis would just have to rest for a few weeks. Treville, who had seen many injured men in his time, was also quite convince that Aramis would heal, as long as he stayed in bed.

The thought of having to rest was horrific for Aramis and, as soon as he got each of them alone, he had to do something about it.

“So you promise you’ll come back tonight and read to me until I’m asleep, Athos? And every night until the physician says I can leave this bed? Because Porthos and d’Artagnan both said that they might not be-able to see me every day and I can’t go a whole day without seeing someone.”

Athos nodded as he stood by the door-way, ready to leave the room.

“I promise, Aramis.”

“Good. Because you know I won’t sleep unless you do. I’ll stay up all night and then I’ll just get weaker until I’m nothing but a pale withering flower.”

Athos rolled his eyes.

 

_**An hour later…** _

“I won’t be-able to eat lunch unless you’re with me. I can only eat when you’re here because you make me relax. If you don’t come, then I won’t eat at all and I’ll slowly waste away until I’m nothing but a pile of shrivelled bones. Because Athos and d’Artagnan both said that they might not be-able to see me every day and I can’t go a whole day without seeing someone. Porthos, do you promise?”

Porthos smiled at his injured friend. “Of course I promise. Every day, when I can, I’ll come with lunch and stay with you for a while.”

 

_**Two hours later…** _

“Because I won’t be-able to get up and get breakfast and you can’t expect the cook to come to my room. So you could bring my breakfast, couldn’t you? You could bring it and, that way, I’ll get to see someone. Otherwise I’ll go mad. I start talking to imaginary people which I think I can see in the room because I’ll be so incredibly bored. Porthos and Athos both said that they might not be-able to see me every day and I can’t go a whole day without seeing someone.”

“Aramis,” d’Artagnan said to stop him from speaking. “I will come every single day for breakfast, I promise.”

Perfect, Aramis thought. Now he just needed to convince Constance to spend time with him every afternoon and Captain Treville to visit him mid-morning.

\-------------------------------------------------------

Down in the garrison the other uninjured three were cleaning their weapons.

“What time did you get?” Athos mumbled.

“Breakfast. I don’t mind, I’m always up early anyway,” d’Artagnan said with a smile.

“Porthos, what about you?”

“Lunch-time.”

“Can I swap? He wants me to do evenings but that’ll interfere with my routine.”

“Drinking you mean. Sure, let’s swap. He probably won’t remember who he asked to do what anyway.”


	4. I'm rescuing you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Aramis, reckless? He doesn't know WHAT you're talking about.
> 
> Featuring Roger the horse.
> 
> Not quite the +1 the original requester asked for but hopefully it's close enough.]

Aramis woke up to the feeling of his forehead throbbing. It felt like Porthos was sitting on it. He moved his arms to push Porthos away but he only found air. Eyes still tightly shut, he groaned, waiting for the wave of nausea to wash over him and disappear. Once it had, he dared to open his eyes.

There was something big in front of him, brown and tall. It was blurry and it took a while to come into focus. Eventually he saw bark and branches then realised that it was just a tree. He listened to the noise of birds happily chirping nearby and the wind rushing through the forest leaves.

With another groan and a lot of effort, he slowly pushed himself up until he was sitting. The forest seemed to spin for a moment but everything eventually calmed down and stopped moving. Aramis frowned and touched his forehead where he discovered something sticky and wet. Lowering his hand, he stared at the dark liquid on the fingertips of his gloves. Blood. He’d obviously been hit by something. He just couldn’t remember.

Suddenly there was another noise and it made him jump. Twigs were breaking nearby. He reached for his sword only to discover that it wasn’t there. His eyes searched for it desperately and he noticed shiny metal lying not far from where he was sitting. He flung himself towards his sword and grabbed it tightly in his hand, the familiar feel of his weapon bringing him great comfort. Only then did he feel safe scanning the forest for the source of the noise. He breathed a great sigh of relief when he immediately noticed what it was, Roger, Athos’ horse. So, Athos had been with him.

Aramis, still feeling dizzy, somehow managed to get up onto his feet and walk, however unsteadily, towards the horse.

“Athos?” he called, looking around. When he got to the horse, who had been busy eating grass, the animal lifted its head and nudged Aramis in the chest as a greeting. Aramis petted him on the neck and continued to scan the area but there was no sign of Athos.

Aramis willed his brain to remember. The last memory he had was being back at the garrison. No, they had slept out in the forest. He did remember that. The others had been with him. So, where were they now?

Roger started strolling off, Aramis managed to stop him and climb up onto his back. He had no-idea where his own horse was. He rode Roger who appeared to be purposely taking him somewhere. Aramis wasn’t entirely sure where the horse was going but it was as good of a place as any.

It only took them a couple of minutes to come across a clue. A small clearing parted the gathering forest and in the center of it, a body lay still on the ground. Eyes locked on the unmoving form, Aramis slowed Roger down and slid off the saddle. The jarring of his spine as his feet hit the ground did nothing to help his sore head; swamped by a sudden rush of dizziness, he grabbed for the saddle a moment to gather his wits then stumbled over to investigate.

The man, laying face-down in the grass, warranted closer inspection. Aramis knelt and carefully rolled him over. Lifeless eyes stared blankly up at the sky, but what caught Aramis attention most was his dress. The armour bore a too familiar marking; the double-headed eagle stamped on the front of the metal breast plate.

“Madre dios…” Aramis murmured as he sat back on his heels. The Holy Roman Empire.

Another few metres up ahead lay another body with the same uniform. There had obviously been a fight. Aramis stood up too quickly and he immediately felt light-headed again. He closed his eyes and had to hold onto Roger’s saddle to stop himself from falling over. Once the ground appeared firm again, he reopened his eyes and sighed. Why couldn’t he remember?

He paused and asked himself the all-important question, what would Athos do? Standing up a little straighter Aramis knew the answer almost immediately. He’d stay calm and access the situation.

So, Aramis mused, he was in one piece apart from the sore head and a missing hat. He had no other injuries which he could feel. The other three were missing, as were their horses, apart from Roger. There were two dead soldiers on the ground. So, the simple explanation, they’d been attacked. The other three must have been captured because they wouldn’t have left Aramis lying injured in the forest by choice.

The other three were being held hostage! Aramis could not help but grin. Finally! He wasn’t the one who had been kidnapped for a change.

Then, as quickly as the realization took hold, another realty took its place; his brother's were in danger and needed his help. Leaping back up onto Roger, Aramis had no option but to ride out and find them. Considering he had no-idea where he was, and therefore where Paris was, exploring on his own was his only option. So he galloped off on Roger to find a path or some sign of life.

An hour later he found a road. It was pretty deserted but all roads led somewhere. He slowed Roger down, his head pounding too much to continue riding fast, and that’s when he saw something in the sky. Some distance from the road and beyond a copse of trees, wisps of smoke rose above the foliage and curled into the air. A cook-fire. A cook-fire meant people.

Aramis rode closer and then jumped off leaving Roger to wonder. Creeping closer to where he'd seen the smoke, he soon heard noises coming from up ahead. Inching closer, he came to a break in the trees and quickly darted behind a great oak; after a beat, he deemed it safe and leaned to one side to get a look. Three soldiers were standing around talking, in a language that was neither French nor Spanish. In the distance, dirty white tents flapped in the breeze but these men were a little ways from the camp.

Aramis crouched low and waited, wishing that he could understand what they were saying. The conversation seemed to end and one of the men headed back in the direction of the camp, the other two came towards Aramis' position. Gripping his sword tight, he tensed, ready to take them on if need be, any notion of pain lost in the rush of adrenaline that always came before battle. Luckily for the Musketeer, the men seemed oblivious to his presence until they were almost upon him. Aramis knew that he could have just let them walk past but these men were holding his friend’s hostage and he couldn’t just let them go.

So Aramis steadied his hand until they were feet away. Their backs to him, Aramis took the advantage and leapt from cover; his first slice sent the nearest soldier hurdling to the forest floor in anguish, clutching at a large gash in his leg. The other, more prepared, managed to turn and pull his sword in one fluent motion. Aramis relaxed and blocked his opponent's lunge, narrowly avoiding being run through. Calling on all his strength, Aramis shoved hard and the soldier fell back. Seeing his was off balance, Aramis regained his stance and lunged forward. But the man managed to twist out of the way at the last second and swung his own weapon around, catching Aramis in the arm, slicing through his clothes and cutting at his skin. Aramis ignored the pain and knocked the sword away with his shoulder and thrust his own blade forward again right into the man’s neck.

Much to Aramis' dismay, the noise of the small battle had attracted the attention of the camp and more men were rushing his way. Bracing himself with slow exhale of breath, he gripped his blooded sword and waited for one of them to make a move.

In no time at all, they were upon him. He managed to fight the first two off without much trouble but then three more were surrounding him. He turned, watching them all, awaiting an indication of who was going to attack him next. The men looked almost nervous about doing so but eventually one of them lunged. Aramis managed to defend himself against the sword and grab the man by the arm, swinging him in the direction of one of his comrades. They both crashed into each other which confused them for a moment and that momentary confusion gave Aramis the chance to attack a third man.

After disposing of the first three a few more soldiers had joined the party. Everything around him had become a dizzying blur. He couldn’t focus his eyes on anything apart from which-ever man he had right in front of him. He wasn’t going to let himself be taken hostage. He wasn’t going to let his friends be hurt. He needed to get them out.

Determination, however, would not rule the day. He was over taken moments later when a half-dozen men jumped him; held down and disarmed, he was then flung unceremoniously to the ground inside a tent. Not only was he unarmed, but they had stripped him of his coat and other weapons before throwing him face first in the dirt, and there he stayed as the men who had carried him into the tent left. He couldn’t believe it. He had been captured again. He’d let the others down.

He sighed in defeat and planted his sore forehead down onto the ground. There was no time to wallow, however; the tent-flap opened again to introduce a rather stern looking man with a very large black moustache and a second younger man not far behind. They spoke to each other in their native tongue for a while, Aramis guessed it was quite possibly Dutch in origin, then the moustached man spoke, although it was the man standing behind that had to translate in French.

“Major Dumont of the Free Country of Burgundy, son of Mathias Dumont, third in command of the Burgundian Circle of the Army of the Holy Roman Empire would like to know why you strayed onto our land.”

Aramis was rather confused by that long title as he sat himself up and tried to think. His mind searched for a response but a familiar voice behind him spoke instead.

“It was a mistake," Athos said evenly. "We walked across the border by accident.”

Aramis turned to look over his shoulder. Athos was sitting there, his hands tied behind his back. Aramis felt relieved. Athos glanced briefly at Aramis but then his focus went back on the Major.

The translator told the man in charge what Athos had said which made the Major huff, clearly he didn’t believe a word of it. He spoke again and they all had to wait until his translator did his work.

“Major Dumont says that perhaps he needs to make an example of those that do not understand the need for clear boundaries and borders.”

“Tell the Major that won’t be necessary. If he would just let us go on our way, nothing need come of this. If, however, he wishes to make an example of us he must realise that there will be consequences from France.”

Aramis was quite content to let Athos do the talking for the time-being. Athos always knew what to say. The Major was speaking again, eyeing both of them up before his eyes fixed back onto Athos.

“Major Dumont asks what four Musketeers were doing walking so close to the border in the first place?”

This time Athos paused for a moment, Aramis looked over at him and waited. Athos didn’t seem to be saying anything. So, before he even knew what he was happening, words started tumbling out of his own mouth. “You can tell Major Dumont of where-ever the fuck he’s from that he can stick his long title up his arse and then he can let us go before the whole force of France comes down on his stupid moustache!”

The eyes of the translator went wide in shock and his mouth opened and shut a couple of times whilst he obviously contemplated how he was going to translate such a thing.

“What my fellow Musketeer meant to say…” Athos said, very quickly intervening. “…is that the King received distressing news that a couple of the villages close to the borders were being intimidated by looters. He was concerned and so sent us to investigate.”

The translator appeared far happier to tell the Major that version and waffled on to the Major.

“Major Dumont will consider what to do with you in due course. Your man just killed at least ten soldiers. You will be punished,” the translator announced and moved out of the way to let his Major leave but Aramis was up on his feet before they had the chance to go.

“I think not.” He ran at them both. He heard Athos shout his name but that didn’t stop him from head-butting the translator before jumping on the Major’s back and wrapping his arm around the man’s neck. The Major struggled, unable to call out for the chokehold locked around his neck. His arms flew wildly behind him and he managed to get a couple of knocks to Aramis’ ribs before he ran out of air and he passed out. On the ground and his man subdued, Aramis let go of the limp unconscious body and shoved it aside. He rolled and looked at Athos with a smile. Athos looked less amused.

“What did you just do?”

Aramis frowned. It seemed perfectly obvious to him. “I’m rescuing you!” he explained, going over to his friend to undo the bindings.

“You just knocked out the third in command of the Burgundian Circle of the Army of the Holy Roman Empire right in the middle of their encampment.”

“I am well aware of the situation, Athos,” Aramis said, kneeling behind Athos and using his nimble fingers to untie the ropes. He was feeling light-headed and it was taking a while to focus on anything but he eventually managed to get Athos free.

“And what, pray tell, should we do now?" Athos asked, sounding rather unimpressed about the whole situation. "Walk out there and wave?”

"Do I have to think of everything?" Aramis said with an air of long suffering.  “Besides," he grinned, "you’re the one who always comes up with the good plans.”

“And you’re the one who forces me to have to come up with good plans,” Athos responded and then sighed. He rubbed his free wrists and studied Aramis for a while. “You’re injured. Look at you. You’re covered in blood.”

“I’m fine,” Aramis insisted, not really knowing what Athos was talking about. He stood up and tried not to wobble about too much as the tent started spinning wildly around him. He had to close his eyes briefly and he hoped that the fact he had his back to Athos would mean that his fellow musketeer wouldn’t notice. “Where are the others?” he asked once he could speak again.

Athos stood up and stepped forward to join Aramis. “They dragged me away from them. You only killed ten?”

“I’m having an off day,” Aramis told him but Athos’ comment gave him an idea. “We could use the uniforms!” he said, his eyes lighting up at his brilliant idea. “It’s already getting dark outside so we could blend in. Then we could find the others and, with four of us carrying weapons, we can easily fight our way out of here.”

“Aramis,” Athos said, almost tenderly and reached out to touch Aramis' shoulder.

But Aramis brushed off the hand and moved quickly to where the soldier's lay. "These uniforms should work fine," he said staring down at them. He felt the weight of Athos' worried gaze but refused to meet it. "But we should hurry before someone misses them."

It was more than a strong sense of urgency driving him on and Aramis knew it. He felt too frantic, too edgy. Something was pumping through him; it made his limbs tingle and he didn’t want to be touched or reasoned with. He needed to rescue them, nothing was going to stop him.

Athos tried again. “We need to stay calm and think about this.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Aramis whispered frantically. "We are wasting time talking. Goodness knows what they’re doing to Porthos and d'Artagnan."

Aramis immediately started stripping out of his shirt quite happily because, as he started to discovered, it was covered in rips, tears and blood. He pulled the armour and shirt off the translator. Athos had the ‘this is a ridiculously bad idea’ look on his face but he started pulling off his own clothes and slipping on the Major’s shirt before the man woke up.

“How do you even put this on?” Aramis asked, trying to tie up the metal breast plate with the leather straps. “Why do some soldiers still wear this heavy stuff?”

“I could give you a detailed history of European military uniforms but I suspect you aren’t actually interested,” Athos said as he went over to Aramis and helped him with the breast plate, putting it on the right way round and then doing it up for him. “There, wonderful,” he announced once he and Aramis were dressed in the new shirts, armour and sword belts.

Then, together, they pulled the half-naked unconscious pair over to the tent pole and tied their wrists together just as the younger one was starting to groan and wake up. So Athos also ripped up his old shirt and used it as a gag just in case their captives attempted to cry out for help.

Standing beside the entrance to the tent, Aramis and Athos peered out. Men seemed to be settling in for the night, disappearing inside tents or huddling around camp-fires. There were a few marching around on guard duty but Aramis was now more convinced than ever that his plan might work.

Athos whispered to him, “We need to decide how we are going to search. We can’t just look in every single tent. What we need to do is come up with a plan that will…”

Before he had the chance to finish his sentence Aramis had rushed outside. He had to go and find the other two before they were interrogated, if they hadn’t been already. Athos soon joined him, Aramis didn’t even need to look to know that he probably had a disapproving expression on his face. They both kept their heads down as they walked, trying not to make eye-contact with anyone. It was a shame that the Major and his translator hadn’t brought their helmets. Still, they managed to remain unchallenged until Aramis felt a tug on his arm and he suddenly found himself being pulled to a halt.

Athos appeared right beside him.  “Look to your right," he whispered.  "There’s a tent with two guards outside. Considering you just knocked out the Major, he can’t be in there. It might be where they’re holding Porthos and d’Artagnan.”

Aramis looked over and immediately saw which tent Athos was talking about. Two bored looking soldiers were standing outside a tent, hands on their belts, swaying on their feet.

“Shall we relieve them?” Aramis said with a sly grin. A hand on his shoulders stopped him.

“So,” Athos began as he tugged him back, “you’ve managed to learn their language within the last five minutes?” he asked which made Aramis go silent, he hadn’t.

However, now they knew where their friends were, Aramis couldn’t understand why they were still standing there. Wiggling out of Athos’ grasp, Aramis walked quickly towards one of the camp fires still cracking away in the darkness. He started gathering up some of the left-over food onto a plate. One solider watched him and said something which Aramis didn’t understand. Aramis just smiled at him and then carried the plate away. He then strolled over to the tent. The guards spotted him coming over and stood up straighter although didn’t seem threatened. Their hands hadn’t moved to their swords. Aramis just nodded at them both and then walked into the tent with the plate of food. He couldn’t quite believe his luck as they just let him inside. 

He sighed in relief as a very confused looking Porthos and d’Artagnan stared up blankly at him. They both studied him up and down and, eventually, Porthos spoke. “It’s rather disturbing how much that uniform suits you.”

Aramis grinned. “I’ve come to rescue you.”

“That’s very kind,” Porthos said as Aramis went over and started loosening the bindings they had around their hands and feet.

“Do I get a uniform as well?” d’Artagnan asked as Aramis untied his feet, the question made Aramis pause. He hadn’t thought about that. He stayed quiet as he went over to untie Porthos.

“Have you found Athos?” Porthos asked, a question which Aramis found easier to answer.

“Yes, he was with me. I’m not sure where he is now. Fuming I suspect.” He looked at Porthos once he had untied his friend. His brain was suddenly coming up with new ideas. “There are two guards outside. You and I could subdue them and grab their swords. Then we need to make a hasty retreat as fast as we can. It’s dark outside, if we stay low then we should go unnoticed.”

Porthos nodded at the plan but then a concerned look came over his face. “You’re hurt,” he reached out to touch the cut on Aramis’ head but Aramis leaned backwards out of the way.

“I’m fine. Come on. We need to move fast before they figure out what’s happening.”

They were all moving over to the entrance of the tent when suddenly the flapped opened and a solider walked in. Aramis’ heart skipped a beat until he realised that solider was Athos. Athos threw two swords down onto the floor and immediately glared at Aramis who cowered a little at the look. Porthos and d’Artagnan, however, picked up the swords with glee. “I’ve dealt with the guards. Follow me out.”

Aramis decided to guard the rear, as far away from Athos as possible, as they all crept outside. The two guards were both lying unconscious on the ground and Aramis assumed that’s where the swords had come from. Darkness assisted their attempt at escape, as did the tents which were helpful to hide behind and wait until the coast was clear. The forest around the camp would provide adequate cover once they had reached it and they were nearly there when suddenly a loud cry from the camp caught their attention. Aramis turned back and saw soldiers running out of their tents and looking frantic. There was more shouting which Aramis didn’t understand but he wasn’t going to wait around to find out what they’d discovered, probably the unconscious Major.

Aramis shoved d’Artagnan in the arse. “Go!” he hissed and they all started running towards the trees.

Amazingly it didn’t take them very long to disappear into the forest but they couldn’t just assume that they weren’t being hunted down and continued to run until they were physically exhausted and had to stop. They stood amongst the trees, puffing, panting and trying to get their breaths back.

“They have…the horses…” d’Artagnan panted out once he could finally speak.

“Apart from Roger,” Athos pointed out which made Aramis panic for a moment. He’d left Roger back in the forest. Thankfully Roger had an uncanny ability to find his way back to Paris like a well-trained pigeon.

It was Porthos who turned to Aramis, a smile on his face. “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you.”

Aramis smiled back. He _had_ done it. He’d managed to get them all out of there and they were all safe. None of them had been harmed. He felt both relieved and exhausted. However, now that they had stopped, his legs felt strange. They wobbled and then, before he could understand what was happening, his legs gave way just as everything went dark.

 

~*~

 

Some hours later and fully conscious, Aramis sat on the bench in the middle of the garrison, as the Musketeer physician attended his wounds.  After cleaning out various cuts and abrasions, stitching those that were deep and binding his ribs— a gentle reminder to Aramis to take shallow, steady breaths — the physician added a bandage to the deeper, stitched cut on his arm. Whilst he felt the whole spectacle was a little undignified, he didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. The other three were already in Treville’s office and Aramis was to join them as soon as his wounds had been tended too.

So Aramis sat there, not at all looking forward to the arse-chewing he was surely due for, and exemplified the very model of obedient patient as his head was also patched up. When the doctor signaled he was done, Aramis was then offered a new shirt by another Musketeer, which he gratefully accepted, and slipped it gingerly over his head. Swamped with exhaustion and dread, he rose from the bench, and marched slowly up the steps toward Treville’s office. At the door, he took one last careful breath and knocked on the office door with his good arm.

By the rather brutal ‘come in!’ shouted, he assumed that Captain Treville wasn’t in the best of moods. The frown which greeted him just confirmed that theory.

Aramis stood beside Porthos at the end of the line and tried to blend-in. Unfortunately Treville, who was standing behind his desk with his hands on the table, was looking right at him.

“Aramis, I have just been told that you ran into an army camp, killed at least ten soldiers and almost suffocated a Major.”

Aramis thought for a moment, trying to remember exactly what he had done. He ended up nodding. “Quite possibly.”

“Athos informs me that you were both reckless and brash in your actions.”

Aramis thought once more, trying to decide if those were the words that he would use to describe his own actions. He could barely remember but he suspected that Athos was right, however he wasn’t about to admit that, on principal. “That could be open to interpretation.”

“He said that you thought nothing of your own life and you ended up injuring yourself which resulted in you fainting once you were all safe.”

Aramis’ eye brows rose, indignant. “I collapsed, Captain.”

“What’s the difference?” Treville asked with a frown.

“Women swoon and faint, men collapse,” Aramis informed him with a smile.

Treville replied with a growly grunt that succeeded in wiping the smile from Aramis’ face.

“Aramis, I can’t have you running around like a lunatic.” Treville pinned Athos with a glare. “Athos, whilst Aramis is recovering from his injuries, you are tasked with teaching him the importance of discipline and self-control.”

Athos suddenly spoke up. “Sir, do you really think...”

“Wait, I haven’t finished yet,” Treville interrupted. “You can start the lessons tomorrow after you’ve all taken him to the tavern and officially thanked him for saving your godforsaken lives. Dismissed.”

As they left Aramis wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened but he did remember the part about the tavern. Once outside on the balcony Athos stepped up to him first.

“I'm still not amused,” he said sternly, until the corner of his lip turned up into a smile. “But I’ll buy the first round.”


End file.
